


A God's Blessing

by Triangulum



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Assault, F/M, God Brock Rumlow, Not from the main pairing, Oral Sex, This Feels Distinctly Blasphemous, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: The village is shocked when Darcy not only returns from the temple of the old gods, where they’d tied her to the altar as a sacrifice, but she comes back literally glowing, her skin luminous. A clear sign of a blessing from the gods. The sky is a deep gray, another terrible storm incoming, with cold rain starting, but she’s not cold, the lingering heat from the god’s blessing still coursing through her. Her hair is wet, as is her dress, clinging to her body, but she barely feels it, warmed from the inside out by his grace.They’d all been expecting her to die. They’d tried to sacrifice her to the gods to escape the constant earthquakes and storms and floods, and would have been checking the temple the next day for her body. So to see her appear, alive and glowing with the gift of the gods, causes a good deal of terror.Good,she thinks savagely. Instead of moving the village somewhere else, somewhere safer, they’d tried to murder her. She wants the fear in their eyes. She’s never been an especially cruel person, but there’s a vengeful part inside of her that wants this.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 48
Kudos: 327





	A God's Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be totally honest, this is not good lol. This is just pure, self-indulgent nonsense because I was craving something a bit sacrilegious. Just so ya know. It's a continuation of chapter 9 of The Stars Turn Gold [(click here for that little ditty).](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510594/chapters/52440415) You don't NEED to have read that for this to make sense, the gist is the village offered Darcy as a sacrifice to a god, and they end up consensually boning.

The village is shocked when Darcy not only returns from the temple of the old gods, where they’d tied her to the altar as a sacrifice, but she comes back literally glowing, her skin luminous. A clear sign of a blessing from the gods. The sky is a deep gray, another terrible storm incoming, with cold rain starting, but she’s not cold, the lingering heat from the god’s blessing still coursing through her. Her hair is wet, as is her dress, clinging to her body, but she barely feels it, warmed from the inside out by his grace. 

They’d all been expecting her to die. They’d tried to sacrifice her to the gods to escape the constant earthquakes and storms and floods, and would have been checking the temple the next day for her body. So to see her appear, alive and glowing with the gift of the gods, causes a good deal of terror. _Good,_ she thinks savagely. Instead of moving the village somewhere else, somewhere safer, they’d tried to murder her. She wants the fear in their eyes. She’s never been an especially cruel person, but there’s a vengeful part inside of her that wants this. 

The villagers jump out of her way when she steps close, walking through the streets until she’s at her aunt’s home, where she lives. Well, had lived before her aunt had ripped her from her room along with three of the village’s elders. Her aunt is standing outside, thunderstruck. Darcy walks by her, unable to keep the rage from her face. A neighbor whispers loudly that maybe they should bring her back to the temple, but the words are barely out of his mouth when a bright streak of lighting flashes followed by a huge clap of thunder. Many shriek, running inside, associating the thunder with the wrath of the gods. Darcy doesn’t know if that’s true, but she doesn’t care, enjoying their fear. She’s leaving this place and never returning, but she would rather them not try to stop her while she gathers her things.

There aren’t many things in her room that she absolutely has to take with her. She has a large leather bag from her father before he died that can be strapped across her back. She puts the clothes she can in it, followed by the dried meats and fruits she’s hidden up here from her aunt. She puts in a couple books, one a journal she’s been writing in. The other was her mother’s, full of her poems and sketches that Darcy flips through when she’s feeling especially sad. A few other things go in the bag. 

Looking outside, the sky is still dark, rain coming harder than ever. As much as she doesn’t want to be here, she wants to go out in that less. She doesn’t know how long the warmth running through her from the god’s blessing will last, and she doesn’t want to be stranded in the rainy night and freeze to death. He’d advised her to leave, but he didn’t say to rush, and she’s sure he wouldn’t want her to hurt herself in the process. So she bars the door in case her aunt gets any ideas and settles in to sleep.

Sleep is elusive though. She’s just had an encounter with an old god. Not just an encounter, she’d lain with him, he’d pulled the pleasure from her body, making her feel ways she’s never been able to achieve on her own, leaving a devastatingly pleasant ache between her thighs. She’s a bit embarrassed to not even know which god he was, but it seemed foolish at the time to ask for his name. She supposes it doesn’t matter. He’s heard her prayers, he’d said. She doesn’t need his name for him to know her.

Her mind can’t still, thinking about the way he’d touched her, made her body come alive under his hands and mouth. The way he’d filled her so completely, without the smallest bit of pain. She’d heard others in her village talk of how painful it is to be breached, how rushed and careless men can be. But this was no mere man, and there’d been nothing but pleasure at his touch. 

She finds that needy ache between her legs rise, a need growing in her again. She bites her lip, pulling up the sleep shift she’d changed into, tentatively touching herself between her legs. Her flesh feels swollen from his use, tingling and warm. There’s a wetness, both from her arousal and from his release trickling out of her, and that makes the desire in her sharpen. The seed of a god, flowing out of her, the warmth of his blessing still coursing through her entire body, making her skin glow and sparkle. The thought that he could be watching her still…

Darcy moves her fingers between her legs, rubbing in slow circles, letting the pleasure build in her slowly. She can’t stop thinking about how his mouth had felt between her legs. She hadn’t known that was a thing that was done, but now she aches just thinking about it. Tentatively, she slips a finger into herself, unsure if it would hurt, but it doesn’t, not at all. He hadn’t left her bruised and hurting. 

She quickens her pace, squeezing her breast and nipple as she can feel something building inside her. Her entire body begins to tighten, breath coming short as she imagines his mouth on her again. His warmth is surrounding her, coaxing her on, and when she peaks, her pleasure violently crashing through her, it’s his face she sees in her mind, eyes hungry on her.

She’s breathless as she lies back, luxuriating in the feeling of being spent and well-pleasured. She enjoys the feeling of the mess between her thighs, especially knowing part of it’s from him, and makes no move to clean herself. Her mind quiets, letting her fall asleep easily, warm and comfortable despite there being no fire in her fireplace and the howling, cold winds battering the home. 

When she wakes the next morning, the weather is clear and fair. Her skin no longer carries the bright glow from last night, but the warmth still is in her. She’s usually fairly cold, so this is a very pleasing development. She doesn’t know how long it will last, but she doesn’t look forward to it fading. She wastes no time, changing and packing her few remaining belongings (her aunt had never permitted her to keep much) and unbars the door, venturing out into the rest of the small house. Her aunt is gone, probably too afraid to spend the night under the same roof as Darcy. _Good,_ she thinks.

There are less people about when she walks through the village, but those that she sees either stare openly in fear, or avert their eyes. No one tries to talk to her and no one tries to stop her. There are two roads leading out of her village, one that takes a coastal route to the nearest city, the other moving more inland. She glances back as she reaches the fork. Her village is near an edge overlooking the ocean. She can admit she’ll miss its beauty, but not the constant peril and storms. And none of the inhabitants. She turns back to the fork and feels a gentle push toward the coastal route, the sudden tingling inside her making her gasp. It feels _good_.

She can take a hint. She adjusts her bag on her back and starts her walk. Her family has never been poor exactly, but they were never able to afford their own horses, and any money she has should be saved for whatever her future holds. Her feet will probably feel terrible, but she doesn’t waste time worrying about it. Her path is laid before her.

It’s hours of walking before she runs into anyone else, and even then it’s just a woman passing in the other direction, nodding politely. Darcy could tell her there’s nothing that way but a dying village, but she keeps to her own business, nodding back as she continues. Considering how long she’s been walking and the dropping temperature as night approaches, her feet should be screaming in pain and possibly bleeding, and the light coat she has wrapped around her shouldn’t be keeping out the hold. But her feet barely ache, and the warmth inside her keeps her perfectly comfortable as the next town comes into sight.

She’s been here often, the town larger than the village she’s from. There are shops and trades here that can’t be found in her village, and she’d come here when she needed certain items that the tailors and blacksmiths in her village weren’t able to handle. She weaves her way through the crowded early evening streets, smiling at those who greet her. They’re much friendlier here, used to travelers that help their economy and they treat them warmly. When she was younger she’d longed to live here, with kind people and more shops and opportunities. She can’t picture staying here now though. She can feel that her path is farther, but she’s happy to stop here.

The larger of the local inns is the first place she tries, pleased that a room is available and within her budget. She’d made money helping local farmers and minding children, but it wasn’t well-paying. She pays extra for a hot meal that night before finding her room, hiding her pack under the bed. It’s not exactly a great hiding place, but she doesn’t want to make it easy for people to ransack her room if they try.

It’s a good stew in the inn’s tavern, one that fills her completely. She normally isn’t content on just a small portion of stew, but she’s pleasantly full when she heads back to her room, locking the door behind her. As she lies in bed that night, warm and comfortable, a sense of safety washes over her.

She murmurs her prayers, thanking him for keeping her safe and guiding her feet. She doesn’t know if the pulse of warmth she feels as she falls asleep is real or just a trick of her imagination. 

When she leaves the next morning, the man working the tavern gives her a wrapped loaf of bread for her travels. She thanks him profusely, hoping as she leaves that wherever she ends up settling is somewhere like this.

She doesn’t want to be afraid, but as she walks along the dirt road toward the next town, there isn’t much to do but think. She’s confident in following what he told her to do, knows that he’ll guide her to where she needs to be, but she’s never traveled this far, has never been alone for this long. On the feet of the fear is guilt bubbling up within her. She trusts her god to do what’s best for her, she shouldn’t feel fear, yet she can’t shove the feeling down completely.

She tries to distract herself, counting the different kinds of trees she sees lining the road, or the dogs that visit her for pets before running back to their owners in the small villages she passes, but the distractions only temporarily push her fear down. She presses on anyway, only stopping when a cat walks next to her out of nowhere, winding its way around her ankles, nearly tripping her. She squats down, running her hand over the soft fur.

“Where’d you come from, sweetheart?” she coos. The black fur covers the cat’s entire body, except for a white spot around the left eye, eyes shockingly blue. The cat purrs, arching into her touch, before walking a few steps down the road, turning around to look at her. A bit confused, she steps forward, and the cat takes a few more steps, looking back again.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Are you my new travel companion?”

The cat, of course, says nothing, but settles in to walk at her side. Okay, she can handle this. A cat companion is definitely better than being alone. It’s a couple hours later that the cat veers off the road onto a smaller path, leading to a tiny village. Darcy doesn’t know if she’s crazy, if she’s interpreting random occurrences as a sign of the gods, but she’s tired, the sun lowering in the sky. The cat leads her to a small inn, a smiling woman sitting in a rocking chair out front.

“Hello, traveler!” she says when Darcy approaches. “Looking for a place?”

“Yes, for a night,” Darcy says. “Do you have room?”

“I do,” the woman says, standing. She looks down at the cat sitting at Darcy’s feet. “What a sweet little thing! Is she yours?”

“No,” Darcy says, crouching down to scratch the cat under the chin, who just purrs happily. “Just decided to be my little trip companion today.”

When she stands, the cat winds itself around her ankles once more, then runs off between the buildings, faster than she can even think to try to stop it.

The woman blinks, before smiling again. “Well, it led you here, and I’m glad it did, please come in.”

The woman, Elizabeth, is very kind, offering her a very affordable room and meal for the night. She’s even able to take a warm bath that night, sighing as she sinks in the water, the stress from the day washing off her. She takes comfort in the warmth that hasn’t faded since the god moved within her, letting it bolster her. She’s sure in what she’s doing, she’s sure in her path. When she settles in to sleep that night, she whispers her prayers under her breath.

“Thank you,” she murmurs to her room, lit only by the fire across the room. “For your guidance and protection.”

She’s sure she doesn’t imagine the pulse of warmth this time. 

Darcy stops at a butcher on the way out of town who’s charging a reasonable price for dried meats. She isn’t low, but she’s gone hungry before and doesn’t want to fall into that situation again. The cat doesn’t appear again as she leaves, but that’s fine. Her steps are sure, her head held high. 

She makes it through three days and more towns, getting a little nervous as her money starts to dwindle. But she keeps her faith and keeps moving. She’s nearing the next town, night nearly on her, when there’s a noise from the wood to her left. She pauses, looking over at the thick trees. There’s nothing she can see, but she knows she heard something. Unease rises in her as she turns, taking the road at a quicker pace. She doesn’t stop and turn again when she hears more rustling, heart pounding. There’s a bend in the road up ahead, a sign saying the village is close, but when she turns the corner, a man melts out of the trees, stepping in front of her. There’s a glint of a knife in his hands, clearly visible in the dusk.

Darcy turns quickly to go back the way she came, only to run into another man behind her, grinning with broken teeth. He’s filthy, with leaves and twigs in his hair, clearly having been living in the woods. She jerks back, only to be roughly grabbed from behind, her arms held tightly behind her back. She shrieks in the vain hope there’s another traveler, that someone from the nearest village may hear her. All she gets for that is a hard hit to the face, slamming her head back and making her see stars.

“This isn’t a great place to travel alone,” the man in front of her says with a leer. “You could run into anybody.”

“Seems like I did,” she says through gritted teeth, unable to stop herself despite the terror coursing through her. All it earns her is another hit, this time to the stomach, making her double over. It makes it easy for the man behind her to yank her bag off her back, the one in front to yank her close, pressing her body to his.

“Careful with what comes out of that mouth,” he says, though he’s grinning, like he’s looking for a reason to hurt her. She can hear the man digging through her bag for anything he can steal, but her worry is the look on the face of the man grabbing her. She knows men like him, knows they like to hurt for the sake of cruelty. 

Darcy raises her chin, fighting against the urge to curl up and hide. “I have the protection of the gods,” she says defiantly, proud of how little waver is in her voice.

The man laughs, using his grip on her arms to throw her to the ground. She falls painfully into the rocky edges of the road, gasping as the wind is knocked out of her. She clutches at her ribs, looking up into her horrible grin.

“The gods can do nothing for you, woman,” he says.

There’s a brief flash of light behind him, making the two men pause in confusion, then, “I’m going to have to disagree with you there.”

The man in front of her whirls, knife held out in front of him. The one digging in her bag leaps to his feet, drawing his own, shorter knife. Foolish of them in her mind, because from where she’s lying, the god in front of them is radiating power and rage. His eyes are flashing like fire, the look on his face thunderous. 

“Who are you?” one of the men asks, and she’s pleased his voice breaks.

The god takes three long strides forward and grabs the man who’d shoved her down by the throat, easily lifting him off the ground. The man makes a strangled gurgling sound, grasping at the hand at his neck, but it doesn’t budge. The god is squeezing, watching the man’s face get redder and redder.

“When you reach the gates of the afterlife, know that the god Brocchosus sent you,” he hisses, and with just a squeeze of his hand, crushes his throat, dropping his dying, gurgling body carelessly to the ground. The other man tries to run, foolishly. The god catches him easily, snapping his neck, his lifeless body dropping.

Darcy manages to sit up, gasping at the pain that shoots up her back, ribs, and head at the movement. The god’s before her less than a second later, kneeling before her. She wonders if she’s hallucinating. He grasps her shoulder, keeping her upright, other hand gently tilting her head, looking at where she’d been hit on the face. The look on his face is murderous.

“I am sorry, little one,” he says, soft voice at odds with the rage plain on his face. She has no idea how to respond. She’s never heard of a god apologizing. “I should have been here sooner.”

“But you came,” she says, reaching out hesitantly, she’s not sure if she’s allowed to touch. He takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand, making her breath catch.

“I will always come for you,” he says seriously. She doesn’t know if it’s because of something he’s doing or because of her fall, but she can feel herself fading, consciousness leaving her. The last thing she hears is his voice saying her name, his warmth surrounding her, then nothing.

Darcy has no idea how long it’s been when she wakes, but she’s warm and comfortable and can’t find it in her to care. Then the memories trickle in, the men jumping out at her, being thrown, her god appearing. She opens her eyes quickly, confused as to where she is, only to find she’s in a bed, with him lying beside her, eyes intent on her face. Her breath stutters, reminding her of the pain in her ribs, making her wince. He looks apologetic at that.

“I didn’t want to heal you until you woke and could make sure I had fixed all your pain,” he says, raising a hand and brushing the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Tell me where.”

“My ribs,” she says, gingerly raising her hand, hovering over the side of her ribcage that’s aching. “My back. The back of my head.”

He pulls her blanket back, carefully setting his hand on her ribs, watching her face for any sign of pain, but his touch is gentle. A curious, cool sensation spreads from his hand, covering her ribs completely until the pain is gone, making it easier for her to take a deep breath. She’s glad she’s on her side and doesn’t have to move for him to shift his hand to her back, whispering his apologies when she tenses. It takes longer for the cooling touch to cover her back. She thinks it may be because of how hard she fell, and how she probably has plenty of cuts and bruises. 

He moves closer to her, hand sliding from her back up to her neck, fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake before gently cradling the back of her head. His eyes haven’t left hers and she couldn’t break his stare if she wanted to. The ache in the back of her head disappears, so he slides his hand to her face, covering what feels like a livid, swollen mark where she was hit. It feels hot, throbbing with her heartbeat. He looks angriest now, though his touch remains as light as before, the burning pain fading under his touch. The pain from her entire body has gone, but he only moves his hand to cradle her throat, thumb brushing over the thin skin there.

“Brocchosus,” Darcy says faintly. “Protector and God of War.”

He smiles at her, nodding. “I suppose I should have introduced myself, but I was...distracted when we met,” he says.

She blushes, but doesn’t look away. She’s neither embarrassed nor ashamed of what she did with him. 

“Why are you here?” she asks.

He raises an amused eyebrow. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No!” she says quickly, reaching out and resting a hand on his chest. She’s a little surprised at her boldness in that, but he looks pleased. “No, of course not. I just don’t understand, surely you must have important...godly things to do?”

“Mm,” he hums, eyes roaming her face. “And are you not one of the ‘godly things’ for me to attend to?”

“I genuinely don’t know how to answer that,” she says.

“Answer what you think,” he says simply. 

“You’re _Brocchosus_ ,” she says, making him grin wryly. “I know you know that, but you have… _so_ much under your purview. One person is...a waste of your time.”

His grin fades, face going very serious. “One follower is never a waste of time. _You_ are not a waste of my time,” he says, moving even closer, scant inches between their bodies. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then says, “You are faithful.” A kiss to her cheek. “You are devout.” A soft kiss to her lips, warming her from the inside out, making her heartbeat race. “You are _worthy_.” 

Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation flowing through her, the utter safety and comfort and belief she has in him. Her god who walks the earth. When she opens them, his gaze is intense on her, something not human flaring in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, little one.”

“I was afraid,” she says, ashamed to admit it. “The last few days. I hesitated. I didn’t - ”

“No,” he says sharply, and she falls quiet. “You were afraid and continued anway. Fear is human, and you continued despite it because of your bravery and your belief.”

“I have faith in you,” she says, reaching out to touch him again, feeling bold. He lets her, looking pleased as her hand rests on his chest, over his heart. He’s as warm as she remembers. 

“I know,” he says, hand sliding from her throat down to wrap around her waist, closing any space between them. His body is hard and strong against hers, running hotter than anyone she’s ever met. “I can feel it. The world is full of non-believers, all those who think the time of the gods has passed.” He moves her hand on his chest lower, to rest right above his sternum. “Your belief burns brightly here. I can feel it every moment.”

Her eyes are wide. She’d never thought about what he’d feel as a god, how disciples would register to him. It’s a heady feeling, knowing a piece of her resonates inside him.

“What does it feel like?” she asks. It’s the right question, making his lips curl into a pleased smile.

“You feel like an ocean within me. You soothe the rage, yet are as turbulent and strong as the deepest of seas,” he says. She’s wholly unprepared for the adoration in his eyes. “You are the first in centuries I can feel this strongly. Whose prayers always echo in the back of my mind.”

“I didn’t know,” is the only thing she can say. “I’m...honored.”

He hums, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist again. She doesn’t move her hand from his sternum. “You can always refuse, I won’t ever think any less of you and care less for you,” he says, hand tightening on her waist. “Can I touch you again?”

She knows exactly what he wants, and her body has been craving it, aching for his touch. More nights than not have featured dreams with him weaving through them. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to ever be with another, knowing what it’s like to be with a god.

“Please,” she whispers, hand pressing harder against his chest. 

A low rumble comes from deep in his chest, then his mouth is on hers, kissing her roughly, nearly desperately. It’s different from last time. The possessiveness has only grown, his hold on her tight like she’d be whisked away from him at any moment. He rolls her onto her back, his powerful body over hers, and while she’s never been more aroused, her cunt already wet and aching between her thighs, she’s also never felt so surrounded and safe. 

He eases her dress over her head, removing her underthings quickly after, until she’s completely bare beneath him. His eyes roam her body hungrily, and she’s never hated how she looks, but she’s never been looked at like this. He takes the time to remove his own thin shirt before his mouth is on her neck, nipping at sucking at the skin, making her gasp. She never thought being touched there as particularly erotic, but, well, he obviously has an eternity of knowledge on this.

He moves his way down her body, leaving kisses and bites down her chest, until his mouth closes around her nipple, her back arching off the bed as pleasure jolts through her, cunt clenching down around nothing. He grins against her breast, fingers pinching and rolling her other nipple. It’s like there’s a direct line from her breasts to her cunt, every touch from him making her wetter, needier for him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs against her, before taking a nipple gently between his teeth, pleased at her whimper, at how she clutches at his shoulders, nail digging into his skin. “Let me hear you, little one. No need for shyness. No one will hear you but me.”

“I don’t care if they hear,” she gasps, mewls when he grazes his teeth against her other nipple before kissing his way down her soft stomach. He looks up at her, eyes glowing like earlier on the road, only there’s not a trace of rage in his gaze. “I don’t care if they know what my god does to me.”

By his sharp intake of breath, she knows that was a good answer. He bites the inside of her thigh, making her gasp, then he buries his mouth between her thighs, licking at sucking at her sensitive flesh. She shudders, shaking hand threading through his soft hair. He hums against her, tongue fluttering and making her mewl as she desperately tries not to rub herself against his face.

He moves his mouth lower, tongue pressing as far as it can into her opening, and _oh_ , that’s a new, very welcome sensation. It’s like he’s devouring her, finding every place on her body that winds her tighter, making something huge and desperate grow inside her. It’s like she was made just for him, her body and soul and self crafted for her god.

“You were,” he murmurs, punctuating his words with a kiss over that hard nub between her legs, making her tighten her grip on his hair. Her heart stutters at his words, at his touch, at what it _means_. “You were made by the gods, made for worship and pleasure. You’re made to be loved.”

She doesn’t know what she’d say to that, because a moment later he’s wrapped his lips around that aching bud between her legs, sucking gently. She arches her back off the bed, a primal, guttural sound wrenched from her throat. He slips two fingers into her, her desperate cunt clenching down around him, happy to be filled. He curls his fingers inside her, pressing on something that makes her keen, thighs shaking on either side of his face. 

He moves his hand faster within her, his tongue pressing rhythmically against that bundle of nerves. Her body is tightening, a fine tremor running through her. He wrenches her pleasure from her, and she lets out a desperate sound as it crashes over her, wetness rushing out of her as the sensation crashes through her. 

He pulls his mouth off her, looking only hungrier for being between her thighs. The blankets beneath her are soaked, and she flushes a bit in embarrassment. “I don’t - I’ve never - ”

He crawls up her body, kissing her hungrily, the taste of herself on his tongue. “It’s good,” he says against her lips. “It’s natural. Your body is singing for me, and I love it.”

Boldness surges through her, confidence that she’s making her god happy. She drags hands down his torso, resting on the clasp of his pants.

“Can I?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says, breathing hard as she opens the clasp, her hand slipping inside, wrapping around his length. He lets out a deep rumble in his chest, his eyes fluttering as she strokes him experimentally. He curses under his breath, head bowed as she touches him. She hasn’t done this before but learns quickly, finding what makes him gasp, what makes him shake.

He pulls back out of her reach, just enough to strip the rest of the way before positioning himself between her spread legs, blunt tip of his cock teasing her opening.

“What do I call you?” she asks suddenly, looking up at him on his knees between her thighs. “B-Brocchosus? What name do I shout when you’re inside me.”

His lips part, like she’s surprised him, and she can feel his cock jerk against her soaked cunt. 

“Brock,” he says, voice deep and rough. “Call me Brock, little one. Let me hear it spill from your lips.”

Then he’s pressing inside her and she’s gasping, his name tumbling out of her as he fills her so completely, his length fitting perfectly inside her. _Made for him,_ she thinks again. Like before, there’s no pain, only the overwhelming fullness. He snaps his hips forward, faster than the last time. Harder. She loves it. 

His pace is rough, hands tight on her hips. She’ll have bruises shaped like his hands tomorrow, and the thought makes something inside her deeply pleased. She wants his mark on her, wants to be able to feel him when he’s gone, when she doesn’t know when, or if, she’ll see him again.

Darcy rolls her hips into his thrusts, hands going to her breasts, squeezing and rolling her nipples, adding another layer to the pleasure he’s building within her. He lets out a rough hiss at the sight.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, thrusting even harder into her. “You’re so good for me, little one. So faithful. You carry me inside you wherever you go. I’ll mark you as mine, because I’m a jealous god, and all others need to know to whom you pray.”

She shudders beneath him, whimpering his name as he reaches between her legs, tracing where she’s split open on him before pressing against the side of her clit. She’s losing herself in his touch, in the tingling, rushing warmth he fills her body with. He’s surrounding her, consuming her, until all she can think of is his touch, how entwined she is with him.

“Brock,” she whimpers, reaching for him. She can’t seem to think of any words other than his name. That’s all he needs though, dropping down until he’s lying over her, one hand braced next to her head, face close to hers. She wraps her arms around him, clinging tightly as he plays her body easily, like he knows it better than she does.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, setting his teeth against her throat, nearly purring at her desperate cry. “Let yourself feel it, little one. Let me feel you come for your god.”

She cries out his name, body shaking as she comes as he commands, pleasure rippling through her entire body. Her greedy cunt flutters around his length, spreading her wide. She can’t hold back the desperate noises escaping her, but from the look on his face, he wouldn’t want her to. Her body is still quaking when he curses, stilling as his thick cock jerks, spilling himself deep inside her. She moans, the feeling of his length twitching inside her as he fills her up is quickly become one of her favorite sensations. 

Brock drops to his elbows over her, pressing her down into the bed with some of his weight and kissing her deeply. She runs trembling hands up and down his sides, unwilling to stop touching him until she has to. He doesn’t seem to mind, humming at her touch. He puts his weight onto one arm, using his other hand to press against the center of her chest, right above the swell of her breasts.

“I would mark you here. For all to see,” he says. “For the world to know you’re under the protection of your god and you are beloved.”

She can’t help the way her jaw drops, making him grin in an amused way. 

“The last mark was given...well over a century ago?” she says, not entirely sure of the time frame.

Brock nods. “Nearly two centuries,” he says. “There have been imposters, of course. But a true mark lives inside you and under your skin, it can’t be washed off like the mere paint others have tried to pass off as a mark of blessing.”

“I’m sure that didn’t exactly please the gods,” she says, making him smirk.

“No one was foolish enough to do it with mine, though my sister’s mark was used a few times,” he says. “She was less than impressed.”

“Do I want to know what happens when a god is less than impressed?”

“No,” he says. “Though I’m confident you’ll never have to find out.”

“I do make a point to not anger all-seeing beings,” she says, making him snort. 

Brock pulls back, softening cock slipping from her body. She can’t help but whimper from the loss. He runs a soothing hand up her side. “I don’t plan on this being my final night with you,” he says, settling next to her, propped up on an elbow, and well, that’s certainly pleasing to hear. 

“Good,” she says. “Considering you have ruined me for other partners. How could anyone else compare to a god?”

He looks quite pleased at that. “I’m proud to be your first, and prouder to bring your pleasure.”

She grins, feeling quite fortunate. “I’m grateful,” she says. “And honored.”

“You honor _me_ ,” he says, throwing her completely. “Your faith and devotion call to me, and I call back.”

“I can feel it,” she says. She takes his hand, placing it back on her chest. “I can feel you here, warming me from the inside, like I carry a piece of you within me.” She doesn’t know if it’s blasphemous to say, it certainly feels a bit sacrilegious to say she has a piece of her god.

He looks...completely shocked at that, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. “Rarely can people feel that,” he says after a pause. “I _am_ with you. I hear every prayer. I feel your joy, your pain, your fear. I’m...overjoyed, that you can feel the piece of me I send in you.”

She shivers, unable to help it under his heady gaze, under the heat of his hand on her chest. “Please,” she says, voice a whisper. “Please, mark me.”

The hand on her chest presses down harder, like he can’t help it. “It’s not reversible,” he warns, though the look on his face is covetous. “You’ll carry it until you die.”

“You will be my god until I die,” she says. His fingertips press harder into her skin, his eyes darkening.

Heat is radiating from his hand, growing hotter against her skin. “I will be,” he said, voice resonating deeper, power seeping in that makes her shudder. Her chest is burning, though not more than she can stand. “And when your time comes, I will carry your soul myself.”

She cries out, her skin pulsing under his hand, like fire, then a second later it’s gone, replaced by the curious tingling she’s begun to associate with him. She looks down when she pulls his hand away, gasping. In the center of the chest, right above where the neckline of her dress would lay, is the symbol of the Protector and God of War emblazoned in gold. She reaches up with a shaking hand, fingers ghosting over the mark. It sends a jolt through her, and he takes in a sharp breath.

“No one will touch you again unless you wish it,” he promises. “I swear to you.”

“Thank you,” she says, thinking of the men on the road.

“I felt your fear. Your pain. I was afraid I’d be too late,” he says. “I’d have found you in the afterlife. I would have brought you to me. But I don’t want your pain. You have much life left to live.”

“Thank you,” she says again. “For - for stopping them.”

“They were heretics,” he hisses, eyes flashing and making her shiver. “They worshipped nothing, practiced darkness and hate, and that’s hard for gods to find. They use a magic that can blind us.”

“What?” she says, surprised. “That’s possible?”

“We don’t advertise our weakness, but they do exist. And there are a few who exploit them”

Anger bubbles in her. “What gives them the right?” she says. “What makes them think they know better than the gods?”

“They’re fools,” he says, running a soothing hand down her side. “They’ve forgotten us and tried to make themselves into gods.”

“I don’t envy them in the afterlife,” she says. His expression turns pleased and vicious. He may be kind to her, may hold her close and hold the title of Protector, but he is also a war god and she will never forget.

“They will suffer, little one,” he says. “My sister already has their souls.”

Natalia, the ruler of the afterlife. 

“Good,” she says darkly, making him grin.

“A true soul of mine,” he says.

Brock gathers her in his arm, pulling her close. Her bare body is pressed against him, his strong arms holding her tightly. She hums, nuzzling close. The new mark on her chest pulses between them. 

“Where are we?” she asks quietly, her arm snaking around his waist.

“Gyrentown,” he says, his voice rumbling through her. That’s...far from where she’d been. “Tomorrow you’ll head east, until the road ends and you see Silver City, where the gods are still worshipped. You’ll be safe. You’ll find your home as a priestess.”

“A priestess?” she asks, startled. That’s a position that’s trained since childhood, something she’s not remotely close to understanding. “I’m not - I don’t know how.”

“You’ll learn,” he says confidently. “I have faith in you.”

Her heart stutters at that, to hear that from a god. She cranes her head back, looking up at him, but his face is serious, without a trace of joking.

“We’re not supposed to have favorites,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yet you’re mine.” He lets that sit there, lets her soak in the strength of that. “If it’s not a path you wish - ”

“It is,” she says immediately. “That sounds...fantastic, actually. I just don’t want to fail.”

He pulls her back into his chest, her head tucked under his chin. “You won’t,” he says confidently. “Sleep, little one. You’ve had a hard day.”

She is tired, her eyelids feeling quite heavy, but she doesn’t want to waste a moment with him. It doesn’t seem to matter, sleep calling to her where she’s held against him.

“This won’t be the last you see me,” he says softly. “Sleep.”

She can’t fight it, slipping off in the safe cradle of her god’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m aware Brocchosus and Brock are ridiculous names for a god lmao I just needed SOMETHING to not call him “he” the whole time. Just roll with it.
> 
> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


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